


Some Kinda Love

by DraSuuh



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-07-10 13:17:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19906342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DraSuuh/pseuds/DraSuuh
Summary: “You know, I wouldn’t have thought demons cuddled.” Crowley choked on the wine halfway down his throat, but managed to turn it into a cough — a sound which drew the angel’s attention anyway.“You… you what?”It was 9 pm on a Thursday night, and Crowley and Aziraphale were extraordinarily drunk.A follow-up to Of Angels and Angles. (https://archiveofourown.org/works/19259458)





	1. Chapter 1

Almost a month had passed since the Apocalypse hadn’t happened, and the world had mostly returned to normal. There would always be a few snatches of strange memories in people’s minds — Mr Tyler had some very odd dreams about burning cars — and places like the bookshop, with its new section, that were just a little different — put back together by an eleven year old boy. Crowley and Aziraphale’s memories remained intact, but their lives hadn’t quite gone back to normal. Not the normal of eleven years ago. They now saw each other much more often than before the whole mess began, when they could go centuries between meetings. Over the past eleven years they’d grown used to being around each other — working together, even — and, though they hadn’t had any sort of discussion about it, they both seem to have settled into a routine of regular visits and days out.

So. A month. A month since the non-Apocalypse, and therefore a month since Aziraphale had spent the night at Crowley’s flat. The two beings had talked about a lot of things in the many hours they’d spent together since then, but they hadn’t talked about the… cuddling. It was just a fluke, of course. Seeking out of comfort in a time of distress. A very human thing to do, admittedly, but they’d been on Earth a long time and they’d picked up a lot — that was Crowley’s thinking, anyway. He wouldn’t let himself think anything more than that.

___

“You know, I wouldn’t have thought demons cuddled.” Crowley choked on the wine halfway down his throat, but managed to turn it into a cough — a sound which drew the angel’s attention anyway.

“You… you what?”

It was 9 pm on a Thursday night, and Crowley and Aziraphale were extraordinarily drunk.

“Well, you know…” He moved his hand in a vaguely circular motion as a replacement for the words his brain didn’t feel like forming. Crowley searched desperately for something to say. Why was Aziraphale bringing this up now?

“Well… well I wouldn’t think angels would either, if it came down to it.”

“I suppose we don’t, as a rule. It’s not disapproved of, though. Rather a human thing, I think, cuddling.”

“I suppose you’ve just found another human pleasure you enjoy, then.”

“I don’t know about that. It isn’t as if I’d do it with anyone else.”

“Eh?”

“Well there isn’t anybody else, is there? What would I do, go out and… cuddle a random human?” Aziraphale laughed — a lighthearted, drunk laugh. Crowley deduced from the tone of the laughter that the angel wasn’t taking any of this seriously, and he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed. He realized he was about a glass away from making a _suggestion,_ and he put his glass down on the coffee table in front of him, wine sloshing a little over the edge onto the wood finish, earning him an angelic glare.

“So…” Crowley grasped around for a new subject. Cetaceans were usually a good one. “Porpoises, then, eh?”

That night it took him longer than the usual five seconds to get to sleep, and he spent much of his time awake with his head turned to the side, gazing at the place Aziraphale had occupied on that night one month ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning on posting anything from this fic until it was mostly done, but I find myself needing encouragement, so here's a little 500-word chapter. If it gets a fraction of the attention my last fic got I'll probably be able to power through and finish it.
> 
> Title from that great bebop band, The Velvet Underground, because I'm very very bad at titles so I steal them from songs.


	2. Chapter 2

Just a few days later, the two beings were taking a walk in St. James Park. A companionable silence rested between them — the kind of silence that is inevitable between two people who have known each other many years, and six thousand years is many, many years. About twenty minutes into their stroll, Aziraphale moved one arm from where it had been, clasping his hands behind his back, and linked it with Crowley’s.

Crowley’s head spun. What a stupid thing to make him feel this dizzy. It wasn’t as if they’d never done this before. The two had walked arm in arm a few times in previous centuries, when it was socially acceptable for men (or male-presenting beings) to do so, on occasions when they were feeling particularly reckless regarding the prying eyes of up above and down below. But that had been over a century ago, and it was no longer the norm. What was Aziraphale doing? Was his knowledge of social custom as stuck in the nineteenth century as his sartorial sense? Or was he making some show of affection beyond the usual smiles and calling him “dear?” And did he have any idea what he was doing to Crowley’s head right now?

“My dear?” Of course. Right on time. Crowley’s voice came out a tiny bit croaky.

“Yes?”

“Are you alright? You had a strange look on your face.” Thank Satan he didn’t have his sunglasses off, if he was that transparent with them on.

“Fine. Wanna feed the ducks?” Aziraphale beamed and Crowley felt a surge of both affection and annoyance (the annoyance being directed at the affection).

“You know, you’re not supposed to give them bread anymore,” the angel said as Crowley held up half a loaf that hadn’t been in his hand a moment before. “It’s not good for them, apparently.” Crowley considered this for a moment, then tore off a piece and threw it into the water. Or rather, he threw a piece of bread and a halved grape landed in the water. He frowned.

“I thought you were cutting down on the frivolous miracles, Angel?”

“It’s not frivolous, I’m protecting God’s creatures!” There was a scoff from the demon.

“They seemed to be doing fine on the bread up ’til now,” he protested, but turned his loaf of bread into a bag of corn anyway. Blessed angel.

—-

“Does he have any idea what he’s doing?” Crowley wasn’t exactly speaking to thin air: the plants were listening. He’d been pacing his apartment and monologuing for half an hour. Ordinarily they would have been most sympathetic to someone in his position, but they just couldn’t muster up any empathy for the person who kept them in a constant state of terror. Some of them, in fact, were quite enjoying the demon’s distress.

He stopped short. “No. Of course he doesn’t.” The subject upon which Crowley had been stuck for the past thirty minutes was a certain angel’s recent behavior. Ever since they’d averted the apocalypse — and had a rather nice snuggle session — he had seemed a little… looser? More forthcoming with affection? Only small things. A hand on the shoulder. Walking arm in arm in the park. Sitting next to Crowley on the couch in the bookshop’s back room rather than in his plush armchair. It was nothing, of course. It couldn’t be anything. Which made it maddening. There had been a tiny part of Crowley that hoped against hope that their night together in his flat would… change things. And it had, it seemed, but not enough, or rather, not in the right way. The increase in platonic affection almost felt like teasing. But there was nothing the demon could do, not really. Rebuffing Aziraphale would give entirely the wrong impression. He just had to put up with it.

The worst part of it all was that this was making him face his own feelings. He had been in denial, even to himself, for the better part of 6,000 years and now the stupid angel was breaking down those barriers, one tiny bit of affection at a time. He’d known all the time of course, really, but he’d proven to have a great talent for lying to himself. Who knew that one snuggle session would ruin that?

“Damn… bless… _something_ it!” The plants seemed almost to titter, at least until they felt Crowley’s yellow eyes on them, and then promptly stilled. Lucky for them, Crowley was in enough of a state of distraction to ignore it. “Alright. Alright. Calm down. It’s nothing. It’s really nothing. Just… keep acting normal.” With those final words, he pulled on his coat and went out to meet Aziraphale for their lunch date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY GUISE, WANT SOME ANGST? HERE YA GO.


	3. Chapter 3

They were back where they always seemed to end up — in the back room of Aziraphale’s bookshop, empty bottles of wine littering the coffee table (and a few on the floor). They weren’t next to each other on the couch this time — Crowley was taking up the entire piece of furniture, stretching out his long legs and leaning back against a pillow. Aziraphale was in his chair, swirling the red wine in his glass and pontificating on… something. The demon had stopped paying attention to the specific words five minutes ago, and was just enjoying the sight of the angel’s enthusiasm. If he had been processing a single word the angel was saying, he wouldn’t be nearly as captivated — his chosen topic was different types of wool and their use in gentlemen’s suits. Crowley wasn’t processing, though. Just staring like a puppy. He was getting dangerously close to the point at which, on another drunken night not long ago, he’d been on the edge of making a _suggestion._ This time, however, he did not have the foresight to stop drinking. He downed his half-full glass and poured himself another.

“Angel…”

“And then my tailor, suggested, of all things, worsted — yes?” Crowley just continued staring, his snake eyes slightly unfocused. He hadn’t actually had anything to say, and he wasn’t sure why he’d interrupted. But now Aziraphale was looking at him, expecting him to say or do something. Later on, the demon would ask himself what he was thinking. The fact was that he wasn’t thinking, at least not on more than a very basic level. And at a very basic level, there was only one thing he wanted to do.

In one smooth, slithering motion, Crowley lifted himself off the couch and moved to lean over Aziraphale. The angel’s reaction time was slowed by the wine, which either was or was not helpful to what was about to happen, depending on your point of view: Crowley brought one hand up to tilt his face upwards, and kissed him. The sensation of his lips on the angel’s snapped his brain back into gear, and after only a few moments he quickly pulled away and stood up straight. Aziraphale’s eyes were open wide and he was motionless, staring straight ahead. Horror filled Crowley and he tried to stammer out an apology, but was interrupted by the angel.

“Well I, I really must be going.” He stood up, pushing Crowley aside and still staring in front of him at nothing.

“Going?” The nonsensicality of Aziraphale’s statement gave the demon the capacity to form words.

“Yes, lots to do, lots to do, and it’s really rather late.” He gathered his coat from where it hung on the coatrack and pulled it on as he made his way through the bookshop.

“Hang on, you can’t _go_ , this is your place, I should be the one going!” protested Crowley, but it was too late. The little bell above the door rang and Aziraphale was gone.

“FUCK,” Crowley screamed at the ceiling. Then he screamed it a few more times for good measure. He was suddenly sober without even having done it on purpose. “What the fuck happened to ‘keep acting normal’?” He clutched at his head and screamed. He screamed until his corporation’s lungs were out of breath, then fell backwards onto the couch. Now what? Should he leave? Wait for Aziraphale to come back? Go looking for him? Where had he gone, anyway? Crowley weighed the options. What would he say if he faced Aziraphale again? Nothing could possibly excuse what he had just done. No, he had better leave. Go back to his flat and maybe sleep another century away. He suddenly felt drunk again. Sleep. Yes. Sleep would be good…

Crowley awoke face down on — where was he? Oh shit. Face down on Aziraphale’s couch, one leg and one arm hanging off the side and brushing the floor, and an afghan spread over him. Where had that come from? He didn’t remember there even haven being a blanket on the couch. Could it have been Aziraphale? He began to call the angel’s name, then stopped. Even if Aziraphale was there, Crowley would rather sneak out quietly than have to face him. Crowley would rather take a shower in holy water than face Aziraphale right now. He shook his head to get his thoughts together. He looked at the grandfather clock in the corner — eight o’clock. In the morning, judging by the light coming in through the slats in the blinds and making long stripes on the rug. What day was it, though? How long had he been there? He threw the afghan off and went to peek around the corner of the door into the main bookshop. The only movement in the room was motes of dust floating through beams of morning sunlight. He opened the door enough to get through and took a tentative step forward. The demon couldn’t hear anything, and as a supernatural being his hearing was really quite good. He started to make his way to the door that led to the street, starting off tiptoeing and ending up running. He only just had time to glance at the door and notice that the sign was turned to closed before sprinting to his Bentley, still parked outside, and peeling away from the curb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've pretty much finished the fic, so I could have made this chapter longer, but I'm a terrible person and I thought this cliffhanger would be delightfully cruel.


	4. Chapter 4

Crowley returned to his apartment — he was reasonably sure Aziraphale wouldn’t come there, if he even had any desire to see Crowley again. _Ever_ again. The thought made his stomach lurch, and if he hadn’t been a supernatural entity that lurch might have combined with the prodigious amounts of alcohol in his stomach and led to a rather unpleasant end. The last few hours had been spent pacing and drinking from a bottle of Scotch that never seemed to run dry, and he had finally ended up on his kitchen floor. Pathetic. What must he look like? (The answer to that question was: quite pathetic, if the truth must be told.)

All Crowley wanted to do was sleep, but he couldn’t. It was the first thing he’d tried as soon as he’d gotten home, but his brain wouldn’t shut up. It just kept screaming at him about how badly he had fucked up. He returned to the thought that had brought him to his apartment. Would Aziraphale ever want to see him again? He hadn’t seemed angry at the time, just shocked and addled, but surely he would be after he had time to think. For one thing, Crowley hadn’t asked consent. That was bad enough. But beyond that, he was absolutely sure the angel must be horrified. The demon had never, ever intended for Aziraphale to know how he felt about him. He was a being of — Crowley gritted his teeth — love, yes, but his (gritted teeth again) love couldn’t possibly be welcome. Not the kind the demon felt, anyway. He let his head fall back hard on the sleek black cabinet he was leaning against and closed his eyes, sleep finally finding him.

—-

A few days of sleep later, Crowley was thinking more clearly. He could salvage this. He had a plan. If only he could get up the courage to call Aziraphale. He sat down in the throne-like chair in front of his desk and began the long process of staring at the phone.

Five hours later, it rang. Crowley lifted his chin off his hand with a start. Very few people had his number, and even fewer had his home number. His hand hovered over the receiver until the answering machine kicked in.

“Crowley? Are you there? It’s just that I haven’t heard from you and I rather think we need to—“

“Aziraphale.”

“—oh, Crowley, hello.” The angel sounded a bit flustered. Crowley took in a deep and unnecessary breath.

“Need to talk? Yeah. Yeah… coffee shop?” The demon thought it best to avoid both alcohol and Aziraphale’s back room.

“Oh, alright then…” He knew exactly which coffee shop Crowley meant. The one with those eclairs…

“Tomorrow, noon.” Crowley hung up before either of them could say anything more, and went into his room to sleep until 11:30 the next morning.

—-

He was early. He was _never_ early. Crowley had invented fashionably late. Except for today, apparently. He’d gotten ready in a bit of a rush and was too preoccupied with mental rehearsing of what he was going to say to pay attention to his very expensive watch. When he realized what had happened, he briefly considered taking a walk around the block, but decided he was being silly. Now, sitting alone at the table, legs crossed and foot bouncing — from nerves, but if you asked him he’d blame the very strong black coffee he’d only had a few sips of — he found himself wishing he had.

The door finally opened, and Aziraphale entered. Crowley stilled his foot and tried desperately to look casual and unconcerned. He rose a hand to beckon the angel over. Aziraphale looked almost as nervous as Crowley felt. He walked over and Crowley opened his mouth before he could stop himself.

“I’m sorry.” Oops. So much for his rehearsed staying cool. “I mean… well, sit down.”Aziraphale sat. And just… _looked_ at him. There was a sort of vulnerability in his eyes that Crowley wasn’t sure how to interpret. “So…”

“Crowley, why did you… do that?” The angel looked genuinely confused.

“I… I don’t know, really.” Bad answer. Start again. “I was drunk.” Still a bad answer. But the only good one would be the truth, and he certainly wasn’t going to let that out of his mouth. “It was just… a stupid drunk thing, I didn’t mean anything by it, and I’m sorry.”

“A stupid drunk thing?”

“Yes.”

“I see.” If there was disappointment in Aziraphale’s voice (there was), Crowley’s mind was too busy kicking itself to notice. “D-don’t do it again, will you?” Even though he hadn’t expected any less, the demon’s heart still sank a little.

“‘Course not.” He smirked, despite himself. “Your reaction, though. Running out of your own home?” If anything could restore normalcy, it would be teasing Aziraphale, even if the subject was an awkward one. The angel blushed and gave Crowley an irritable look.

“Oh… it surprised me!”

“I think you went into genuine shock.”

“It… I’d never…” Aziraphale stopped himself right there. “Well, I suppose I’ll forgive you. _If_ you get me one of those eclairs.” Crowley smiled a genuine smile at his angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost to the end, guys!


	5. Chapter 5

_Don’t do it again, will you?_ Those words had been echoing in Crowley’s head for the past three weeks. They just wouldn’t go away.

“Another glass, dear?” _Don’t do it again, will you?_ Crowley just stared, slightly unfocused, at the angel’s face. “…Crowley?”

“What? Oh! Yeah, yes, thanks.” The demon held out his glass for the angel to fill it with the oldest and most expensive wine in the cellar of the high end but cozy Italian restaurant they were dining in.

“Where was I? Oh yes — that new shipment I got in. Well…” _Don’t do it again, will you?_ “…Crowley? Crowley!”

“Hmm?” He looked up as if just noticing that an entire world existed around the glass he’d been staring at. Aziraphale fixed him with a look that was one part perturbation, three parts concern.

“I’m fine,” Crowley said, anticipating the angel’s question. “I just need some fresh air. Stuffy in here.”

“Fresh air… yes, quite.”

—-

When the two got outside, they walked in silence for some time. A few blocks on, Aziraphale casually put his arm through Crowley’s, like he had in the park a few weeks back. The demon promptly tripped over his own legs and would have fallen full on the ground had the angel not caught him.

“Oh my!”

As soon as he found himself in Aziraphale’s arms, Crowley jumped out of them, causing Aziraphale to stumble slightly.

“Sorry!”

“It’s quite alright… but you obviously aren’t. Come on. And keep on your feet this time.” Aziraphale took Crowley’s arm again, keeping him steady this time and leading him in the direction of the bookshop.

Crowley felt separate from his body, somehow — he allowed himself to be led without thinking. He had the feeling something important was going to happen soon, and he knew his stomach must be churning, but he couldn’t feel it, nor could he feel his head spinning like it had the last time Aziraphale had taken him by the arm. Before he knew it they were in the bookshop, and he was abruptly dragged back into his corporation by Aziraphale snapping his fingers in front of his face — not to perform a miracle, but just to bring him back to his senses.

“Crowley, are you with me?” Aziraphale still had his hand on the demon’s arm, almost as if to steady him. Crowley worked to focus his eyes on his companion.

“Yeah. Yeah, sorry, I was…” He trailed off, unsure what he had been.

“Crowley, you’ve been acting strangely for… well, since…” The angel looked at the floor. Up until now he had seemed sure of himself and in control; he had been holding Crowley’s gaze as well as his arm. Now he stumbled over his words and no longer met his friend’s eyes.

Crowley said nothing. There was so much he could, _should_ , say, but his lips seemed sealed together.

“It… it wasn’t nothing, was it?” The demon remained silent. Aziraphale sighed. “And… the night at your flat wasn’t nothing either, was it?” Still silent. “Oh, will you take those things off?” He snatched at Crowley’s glasses and succeeded in taking them off his face. Crowley merely blinked in surprise. His face was somehow blank and full of emotion at the same time. Both beings seemed to be struggling to hold eye contact. “You’re not going anywhere until you say something.” The demon finally opened his mouth to speak.

“Um.”

Aziraphale sighed again. Crowley sighed in response, letting out the last breath he had taken, right before Aziraphale had put his hand on his arm outside the restaurant. “I’m sorry, An—Aziraphale.” He tried to walk around the angel to reach the door, but found himself blocked by outstretched arms. “Please. You’re right. You’re right and I’ve been… I’ve been trying to act normal but I _can’t,_ I can’t anymore and… just let me go. I can’t.” The arms didn’t move.

“Crowley, I…” The angel swallowed hard. “I rather think I messed up.” Crowley stared.

“ _You_ messed up? How?”

“Yes. When I… when I asked you not to do it again.” Aziraphale lowered his arms and cast his eyes to the ground, a slight blush coming over his face. His demon just looked at him with confusion.

“Huh?” His ability to form proper words seemed to have left him again.

“You heard me.” Aziraphale mustered up his courage and looked at Crowley again.

“I don’t… I don’t understand.”

“And you called me stupid!” He huffed.

“Wait. You don’t mean…?”

“Yes, you idiot!” Finally Crowley’s face moved — his lips twitched in a smile at what were quite aggressive words coming from the angel.

“So, then you do want me to…”

“Yes.”

“…Now?” Aziraphale blinked. Somehow he seemed taken aback by this question — Crowley was not the only idiot in the room, it seemed.

“I… alright.” Crowley smiled, and finally relaxed.

“Close your eyes, Angel.” Aziraphale screwed up his eyes and Crowley frowned. “You look like you’re preparing to be punched.” The angel opened his eyes again.

“Oh! Oh I’m sorry. I just… I don’t really… I’ve never really…” He was interrupted by Crowley’s laughter. For a moment he looked offended, then began laughing himself.

“We’re fucking disasters!” Crowley’s voice was high-pitched with mirth. He fell forward into Aziraphale, wrapping his arms around his middle and burying his face in his shoulder, shaking with laughter. The angel welcomed him into his arms and laughed along with him.

As their laughter began to die down to giggles, Aziraphale spoke: “I love you, Crowley.”

At that, the demon stilled, his laughter stopping altogether. Aziraphale waited, but there was only silence. He took Crowley by the shoulders and pulled him back to look at him. He looked embarrassed, his face red and his eyes focused on the floor.

“Crowley…” He looked up and Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at him.

“I just…” Crowley screwed up his face. “Do I have to say it?”

“I would rather like it if you did.” The demon looked away again and Aziraphale sighed. “But I suppose I can wait, if you don’t feel quite ready. Don’t think you’ll get away with never saying it, though.” Crowley gave a small smile and took his place in his angel’s arms again, pressing a long but chaste kiss to his neck that he tried to imbue will all the feelings he couldn’t voice yet.

And so the two supernatural beings stood in the middle of a bookshop, wrapped in each other’s arms. There were perhaps a few things missing from a traditional love confession scene, but this was just the very beginning of something that would last many thousands of years, and eternity was quite long enough to contain many kisses and ‘I love you’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it! I finished my second fic and got our Ineffable Disasters together. I hope you guys enjoyed it. Not too sure how I feel about it myself, but when I started writing I promised myself I'd post even when I was unsure.


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOOPS I slipped and wrote an epilogue.

“Let’s just… let it happen naturally, eh Angel?”

Crowley had spoken those words a week ago, after Aziraphale had confessed his love for Crowley and Crowley had, well, dithered but gotten the point across, and the angel had panicked when confronted with the idea of a kiss. It had been a good week. A very good week. They’d held hands — in public even, after Crowley convinced a nervous Aziraphale that they were almost certainly free of prying eyes from either above or below.

Crowley would drape a languid arm over the angel’s shoulders when they stood close, or drape himself comfortably (in what the angel thought looked like very uncomfortable positions) over Aziraphale when they sat on the couch. A few times, overcome with affection, Crowley had come up behind his angel and wrapped him in a tight hug, chin resting on his shoulder. It had proved impossible to play that off as in any way cool, but the demon found himself not caring.

Yes, Crowley was very happy with the past week. Happier than he’d been in a long time. Things were really quite innocent, but after six thousand years just these little touches felt like acts of unbridled passion. He did, however, find himself wondering when, or even if, they would kiss. Crowley had decided to let Aziraphale be the one to cross that line, as he was the one who seemed to be having trouble with it. He was reasonably sure the angel wanted to, but he couldn’t be blamed for having a few doubts…

\---

Crowley woke up warm, tangled in blankets and angel limbs. He smiled into a soft shoulder. This was the third time he’d woken up like this, including the night after the thwarted Armageddon, and the second in Aziraphale’s bed. The bed hadn’t seen regular use since… well, ever. Crowley was determined to change that. He wasn’t sure if his angel was actually, properly sleeping, but even if he wasn’t he didn’t seem to mind laying still for nine or ten hours at a stretch with Crowley asleep in his arms.

Aziraphale lifted his head.

“Awake?” That meant he was going to get up.

“Nnnnnnn…o?”

The angel smiled and sat up, untwining himself from Crowley’s long limbs and wrapping a soft robe around himself.

“I’ll make you some coffee.” The demon just harrumphed and curled in on himself, missing the warmth. He stirred, however, when the smell of strong coffee wafted into the room and, with a great effort of willpower, hauled himself out of bed to pad barefoot into the small kitchen down the hall. There was a small round table with two chairs, one occupied by Aziraphale, with his morning cocoa and newspaper, and the other waiting for Crowley, a mug of coffee sitting on the table.

The coffee had plenty of cream and sugar. Crowley had gone years drinking only the blackest of black coffee and hating it. Aziraphale had finally convinced him to try it a different way and now he almost always took cream and sugar. (In public, though, he still drank it black — it looked cooler, or at least so he thought.)

Crowley slouched into the chair and lifted the mug to his lips, smiling slightly before he took his first sip. He watched his angel reading the newspaper, turning the pages and smoothing the creases carefully as he absorbed the words. Aziraphale was the only person Crowley knew who still read an actual physical newspaper (not that Crowley knew all that many people). He was obviously reading something of interest — he hadn’t reacted to Crowley’s entering the room or flopping down in the chair, and he had an unnoticed (and adorable) cocoa mustache.

“Aziraphale…”

“Just a moment, Crowley.” He barely lifted his eyes from the page.

“Aziraphale, you’ve got…” Crowley pointed to his own upper lip.

“Hm?”

“You’ve got, um…” He gave up. There was only one thing for it.

Crowley leaned over the small table and caught his angel’s lip in his own, kissing off the cocoa and staying for just a moment before sitting back down in his chair. Aziraphale sat up straight and stared.

“Er, was that… alright? I mean, was it okay that I did that?”

“Yes.” He smiled and reached for Crowley’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Yes, it was quite alright.”

The demon breathed a sigh of relief as Aziraphale let go of his hand and went back to reading. Wait. Back to reading? Really? Was that it? As Crowley stared, somewhat perturbed, the angel took a long, deep drink from his mug; a drink which left another, even bigger, line of cocoa on his lip. Crowley lips quirked up slightly.

“Angel…”

“Yes, dear?”

There was a sort of forced innocence in his voice, and his lips twitched in a smile. Crowley’s smile widened. _Bastard._ He repeated his previous motion, moving slightly downward to give his angel a proper, lingering kiss after removing the cocoa. Aziraphale returned it, slightly tentative but radiating joy.

The line had been crossed.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from that great bebop band, The Velvet Underground, because I'm very very bad at titles so I steal them from songs.


End file.
